Deputy Mommy
by OyHumbug
Summary: Her days are filled with work, and her nights consumed by three heroes masquerading as men. After more than two years of this routine, Felicity is used to this life. Content with it. But then she's presented with a proposal that would allow her to serve Starling City not only in secret but also out in the open, and the proposal throws her entire world into a tailspin.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__I started this story before S3 began, and I do not read spoilers. Anything that mirrors what has happened on the show is intentional, while anything that predicts what might happen is unintentional. This isn't my idea of what S3 will be; it's just something that I thought would be fun to write/read. It is complete, it finishes up with the hiatus flash fic prompts, and I will be posting regularly – probably once a week. I know that I have a ficlet and a one shot series to complete, and those are on my horizon, but I wanted to wrap up these prompts first. Plus, I'm still very much interested in Jax and Tara (Sons of Anarchy) and will continue to write for them as well. Anyway, I think that's all I need share in this update. Thanks for reading and enjoy!_

_~Charlynn~_

**FF#12: Deputy Mommy**

**Part One**

**Flash Fic Prompt #12: Whatever It Takes**

As Felicity slid into the booth across from Oliver, she smiled. She couldn't help it. Even though it was still awkward between them, even though she had no idea why they were there and where everyone else was, it had been _so _long, and it just felt _too _normal not to grin. "We haven't been here since Digg tried to date Carly, and it didn't work out." Eyes going wide with realization, she cursed her inability to think first before speaking. For a girl who could mentally work out ten different contingency tech plans in a matter of seconds, when it came to communicating, especially with Oliver, she possessed absolutely no foresight. "Please don't tell me this means I can never eat Italian again, because, if so, I'm just going to stop dating now. I love food too much to sacrifice it on the off chance of joint tax returns and his and her closets."

"And here I thought your generation dated in order to have sex."

Felicity briefly broke eye contact with Oliver to flick her gaze over towards the new arrival, over towards the person who had just spoken. "No. That's separate. In fact, it's been my recent experience that dating doesn't even include kissing." Because that was saved for breaking up.

"Yes, well, perhaps we should keep that between just the three of us moving forward," Walter suggested helpfully.

Felicity nodded. And then she did a double take, _finally_ realizing just who she had been confiding in about her sex life. Or, to be fair, her non-sex life, because that well was drier than Death Valley, and everyone knew that California was in the middle of a horrible drought. "Uh... Mr. Steele, what are _you_ doing here?" Blinking several times, Felicity took in the scene playing out before her eyes, the setting. She was sitting in a booth in a burger joint with Starling City's former billionaire playboy (but no less of a media darling) and her former boss, a very British (as far as her BBC obsession had convinced her) banker. "What are you doing _here_?"

For the first time since she had arrived, Oliver spoke. "I thought it best if we met somewhere... more private."

Felicity groaned. "Oh no," she exclaimed – shoulders falling, face crumpling, her good mood (relatively speaking) evaporating. "Who died?" Gaze zigzagging back and forth between the two men, she finally landed upon Walter... well, for obvious reasons. "Or is dying?"

"Good god, Miss Smoak, I'm not _that _old."

"Well, no," she immediately agreed, rushing to allay his offense. But that didn't mean that she was ready to admit fault either. "But, statistically speaking..."

Before she could dig her hole any deeper, Oliver cut her off. "Nobody's dying. Nothing's wrong." She sighed in relief. "We just... what we need to discuss with you is extremely sensitive."

"Isn't it always," she quipped with a roll of her eyes. Perhaps the gesture was somewhat muted behind her glasses, but Walter still smirked. Meanwhile, Oliver just looked like someone had given him a wedgie... which he should be used to given his penchant for leather pants, but that really wasn't something she should be thinking about at the moment – sitting across from Walter, having a very serious conversation inside Big Belly Burger of all places. Ugh. Where were the other children – Digg and Roy – when she needed their support... i.e. their juvenile senses of humor?

"Felicity," Walter took control, seemingly sensing that Oliver and Felicity could bicker back and forth all night without actually accomplishing anything. And he was right. They could. It was a more recent development in their relationship, or, really, it was a callback to how things had been between them in the beginning. "How much attention do you pay to politics?"

"More than Oliver, that's for sure."

"Right," Walter responded, sounding resigned.

On the other hand, the former billionaire in question protested vehemently, "hey!" It wasn't the most eloquent of objections, but Oliver still got his point across.

Felicity just grinned innocently, mischievously... and, yes, that combination was possible, folding her hands before her on top of the formica table. "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we," she suggested. "I can only handle so much small talk on an empty stomach, and neither of you seem in any hurry to order."

"Good god no," Walter grimaced, shuddering. "You don't actually eat here, do you?" At Felicity's raised, pointed brow (basically, she gave him her best 'duh' expression), he blanched in horror. "Ms. Smoak, we're only here because Oliver assured me that the press would not find us here. We don't want them getting wind of our plans until we're ready to formally announce."

"Ready to announce what?"

"I'm going to pick up where my mother left off and run for mayor."

Frowning, Felicity snapped, "be serious, Oliver." When he and Walter just exchanged guileless glances, her mouth fell open in shock... like a fish. It was very unbecoming but a well-deserved moment of losing her composure. Then, she laughed... a full-on belly laugh, which was appropriate, Felicity reasoned, considering where they were. "You," she mocked, wiping away a tear of mirth. "A public figure of honor, justice, and good will?" Okay, so it fit with his not-so-public persona, but Walter (and the rest of the city, for that matter) were still in the dark as to who Oliver really was when the sun went down and the lights came up... right? While she couldn't go with that angle in her protestations – _um, hello, how can you be a secret vigilante/hero when you're the man in front of the curtain, running the city?_ – there were other wrinkles to consider, to present and argue. "Who's going to vote for you?"

Oliver looked offended and annoyed with her question, but it was Walter who answered. "He'd be running uncontested. Plus, Moira was able to greatly repair the family's image before she... passed. Oliver has been a different man since his return. The polls show that the people of Starling City both recognize and respect that. Plus, now that he's technically an underdog, he's actually more relatable."

"Which makes him more electable," she supplied, filling in where her former boss left off. But that didn't mean that Felicity was ready to accept what was being presented to her yet, that she was finished objecting to this... ludicrous, preposterous idea. "But... what about Queen Consolidated," she sputtered, zeroing her unwavering gaze into Oliver's. "What about getting your family's company back?"

"If Ray Palmer wants to run my company, he can... for now," Oliver answered, shocking Felicity even further. Since the moment they arrived back in Starling after yet again taking their _summer vacation _to Lian Yu – this time to drop someone off, not pick someone up, Oliver had been all about QC, about reclaiming his fortune, and about beating his latest business rival. "I'll run _my _city."

Oh, for the love of... "Why don't you two just whip your... _responsibilities_... out on the table and compare them already," Felicity groused, tired of the testosterone fueled oneupmanship she had been witness to between the two men recently.

Apparently finding _this _vein of bickering more amusing, Walter encouraged, "and who is going to judge the size of these... responsibilities, Ms. Smoak? Yourself, perhaps?"

Before she could respond, before she could play along, before she could even smile at the teasing, Oliver quietly seethed, "over my dead body."

Glaring at him from across the table, Felicity didn't say anything out loud, but she let her displeasure be known nonetheless. Silently, she condemned Oliver. _You can't have it both ways_, the snapping blue flames of her eyes said. _You can't push me away but keep me close. You can't refuse to be with me but become all melodramatic and possessive at even the thought of me being with someone else. You can't tell me what to do, who to date, or, in this case, who not to date or do_. It didn't matter, though, how much she glowered at him, how much she mentally yelled at him... and Felicity had no doubt that he could hear everything she was thinking, Oliver wouldn't back down. He returned her heated glance with every ounce of fervor he had, never blinking.

It was Walter who broke their little staring contest. "While this is all extremely fascinating, we didn't just ask you to meet us here, Ms. Smoak, so we could tell you about Oliver's bid for mayor." When she still refused to look away from Oliver, Walter added, "we want to offer you a job."

Well, that certainly did the trick. Surprised, she glanced at her former boss, saying the first thing that came to mind. "But I already have a job." Yeah. Working for Ray Palmer... which Oliver just _loved_.

"I want you to join the campaign," Oliver revealed.

"As what," she barked, once more shooting daggers at him. Oh, Felicity knew what he was up to. Oliver didn't like it when she wasn't close. They had been down this road before, and that road eventually came to the dead-end of her career. "Your campaign manager, because, Oliver, just like being your executive assistant, that's just a secretary gig wrapped up in the shiny bow of a different, less offensive title."

She could have gone on for days – weeks!... well past the actual election, but Walter shut her up with just four words. "As his deputy mayor." Shocked and at a loss for words – a first for her, perhaps, Felicity just sat back and listened as the most unlikely... yet surprisingly not unappealing job offer was presented to her. "We want you to run for office with Oliver. We think that the two of you will be – _are –_ an unbeatable team." Mentally, she snorted. If only Walter knew the half of it... "Your backgrounds, your skills, your strengths couldn't be more opposite if you tried, but that just means that you compliment each other well. Plus, as this meeting has emphasized for me yet again, you keep Oliver on his toes, Ms. Smoak. That's good for a politician... even better for a man."

If she didn't know better, Felicity would have thought Walter was pitching Oliver to her as more than just a running-mate. In fact, drop the running portion of that noun, and she'd arrive at what was being suggested. "I... I don't know what to say."

Walter shrugged, grinned, and then stood up – tossing several bills onto the table out of habit despite the fact that none of them had ordered a thing. "Say yes, Ms. Smoak." And then he left, leaving her alone with Oliver in a restaurant... because _that _had ended so well the last time.

Wow.

Just... wow.


	2. Chapter 2

_Just a quick note: I wrote this BEFORE we saw inside of Felicity's apartment, and I try to stay as spoiler free as possible, so I didn't look at pictures of her place before 3x05 either. Because of this, the description of her flat will differ from what we saw on screen. I debated over whether or not I should change this, but I elected to keep it the way it is in honor of the flash fic structure. I hope this won't be too distracting. Thanks for reading and enjoy!_

_~Charlynn~_

**FF#13: Deputy Mommy**

**Part Two**

**Flash Fic Prompt #13: Silent as the Grave**

Well, it was official.

She did it.

Felicity had signed up for a print newspaper subscription.

She was now an adult... a very unprogressive, old adult.

That thought should have been more frightening than it was.

Practically rolling out of bed because the sun wasn't up yet, and because she was exhausted from yet another late-night strategizing session – why they had to strategize when they were running uncontested – and, yes, she _was _running with Oliver – Felicity had no idea, and because rolling was easier on her old-lady back, Felicity eventually maneuvered her body into a standing position... only to immediately slouch forward and fold her arms over her chest. She was too sleepy to stand up straight; she was too chilly to not try and burrow into her own lingering from slumber body warmth. Quickly sliding her feet into a pair of carefully placed slippers (for optimal and immediate use), she set off towards the main living parts of her apartment, shuffling along.

Felicity took her time... and she took a detour to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee that had been brewed according to her pre-settings. She'd finish the rest of the pot while she consumed her very first edition of a print newspaper, but, in the meantime, she needed to brace herself for going outside... even if it was only to retrieve said first edition of a print newspaper off of her front stoop. Eyes open only to slit level, she sipped at her mug of java, grumbling under her breath.

This! This was exactly why she had always relied upon online media for her breaking headlines (and gossip). Online came to her; she didn't have to go to it. For someone who, quite frankly, made the internet her bitch (she did, Felicity could not deny it), physically seeking out information felt alien, but there was just something about seeing your name in print, your face on the front page – real, tangible proof of her own importance, of her own accomplishments – that meant something to Felicity... enough so that she broke down and subscribed to the local paper.

It wasn't like she was going to clip the articles about her run for Deputy Mayor and send them to her mother. She wasn't even going to save them for herself. Felicity wasn't that type of girl – the sentimental, scrap-booking type. She had ego, but it wasn't the size of Texas. It was more like... Washington – liberal in view and average in size. But that didn't mean that she wasn't excited either. Because she was.

Ever since she was fourteen and in the ninth grade, she had craved power... not in the 'I'm going to rule the world and make you all my minions – insert evil laugh here' kind of power, but in that it would be nice to have a voice. Growing up, her mother's word had always been law. Donna Smoak didn't have the patience to entertain her daughter's opinion, let alone the time or energy. It was only once Felicity entered high school and her class started voting on officers and student council representatives that she realized she could have an actual say in her own life. Felicity had been too shy to run for anything all those years before, but that wasn't the case now.

Perhaps more importantly, she had ideas, too – ideas about how Starling should be run, ideas about how to make it a better place for all and not just for the 1%. Not only did she come to the table with her insights from being a self-made woman in what was still a man's world, but she also knew what the city was like at night. She knew its darkness, its seedy underbelly, its nightmares, and, for two years now, she had been working to fix it, one bad guy at a time. Now, she had a platform to do good outside of the shadows, and that wasn't an opportunity Felicity planned on wasting.

Practically licking the last drags of coffee from her mug, she set the cup down on her kitchen island and then stood up from the stool on which she had been sitting. "I'll be back for you later," she promised the life-giving liquid, leaving the room and heading towards her front door with more pep in her step than she'd possessed five minutes earlier. As soon as Felicity walked out into the lobby of her building, she shivered, already anticipating her next cup of coffee upon re-entering her home.

There was a gust of wind that seemed to push the door of the brownstone open even further, faster. It whistled down the eaves, and it sent a chill up Felicity's spine... which was ridiculous, because it was just wind. She was running for Deputy Mayor, not running for her life in a scary movie. There wasn't a full moon, her street was quiet, and she had absolutely no reason to fear... well, anything besides an unflattering picture being used to announce their run for office. Disregarding the sudden wave of dread that washed over her, Felicity bent to retrieve her newspaper... only for her body to stop mid-movement, her gaze landing upon booted – _tiny_ booted – feet instead of ink and paper.

"Unless I've suddenly been transported into a production of The Newsies, you're too young to be my paperboy... not to mention the fact that you're not Christian Bale. Or would it be paper-person... you know, to be PC and everything?"

No response.

So, Felicity allowed her gaze to move up from the little (okay, she could admit it), adorable green rain boots (that was a coincidence, right?) to find equally little legs encased in khaki pants, a small torso and arms housed inside a long, blue rain coat, and a face that just wanted to be pinched hidden behind the cowl of the attached blue hood. (Well, at least that wasn't green, too.) As she observed the child standing before her, Felicity also noticed that he wore a backpack and was holding something in his hands.

"Are you lost," she tried, glancing up and then down her street, but, like she had noted before, it was empty. At this time of morning, there wasn't any traffic, and everyone else was sleeping blissfully unaware in their beds – oblivious to her foray into politics and, in that moment, oblivious to her surprise guest as well. "Did you run away from home? Do you need to use my phone to call your parents?"

Rather than reply, the child simply pushed an envelope towards her. What was even stranger than the situation Felicity found herself in, including the little boy's silence, was the fact that the envelope was addressed to her – a formal _Felicity Smoak_ scrawled across the cream paper in black ink and written with a feminine touch. Not knowing what else to do, she took the note from the unknown child, sliding her finger under its seal, and removing the missive... only she didn't find a letter inside. Instead, it was just a single sheet of paper, five life-changing words written across the center. She read them out loud.

"He should have been yours."

"What," Felicity instantly responded, looking from the unsuspecting... or so she assumed... child and then back towards the note, her head bobbing up and down as she searched for some clue as to what was going on. "I don't... This has to be some kind of joke. Right?" But the piece of paper she held in her hands couldn't tell her anything else, and the boy seemed absolutely unwilling to talk to her. Not that she could blame him. He was probably traumatized – dropped off on some stranger's stoop in the middle of night, left alone without a clue as to what was going on. Plus, not to mention, how long had he been standing out there, waiting for her? Minutes? Hours? The wind gusted again, and Felicity's teeth started chattering.

"Oh, god," she moaned in realization, in worry. The poor kid was probably freezing. "We have to get you inside." But she couldn't... could she? He wasn't her child. She had no idea who he was. What if... would it be illegal for her to take him into her home? Illegal or not, Felicity knew that it would be inhumane to leave him outside while she waited for... someone to come and help her sort through this mess.

Decision made, she reached out to usher the child indoors but then stopped herself, holding her hands out in front of her to display innocence. "I'm not kidnapping him," she proclaimed just in case someone was watching. And she was announcing that day to the world that she was running for public office, so it wasn't just paranoia that made her think hidden eyes could be trained upon her – upon them – that very moment. "He's free to go whenever he wants, whenever a responsible adult arrives to take him back to where he belongs. But, in the meantime, I can't just leave him out here." Dropping her voice to talk to the little boy, Felicity added, "come on, let's get you inside where it's warm. Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?"

The child didn't answer her, but he did slowly... as if testing the waters, so to speak, step inside of her building and then, once she indicated where he should go, walk into her apartment. After they were inside, he followed her to the kitchen where Felicity watched in part shock and part amusement as the kid pushed his hood away from his face and off of his head before climbing up onto one of her stools. He still didn't say anything, and he certainly looked like someone had dropkicked his puppy... which, since it seemed like he had been abandoned, was a fair expression for the kid to take up, but, apparently, the offering of food was the universal welcome she needed to use to make him feel comfortable enough around her to let down at least some of his guards.

Reflexively, Felicity went to her coffee pot. She was just about to pour the child a cup when she realized who – well, not _who_, because she had no idea who the kid was but at least how old the person was that she was currently... entertaining. Perhaps they'd save coffee for when he reached double digits, because, if the boy was a day over eight, she'd eat her very own first print newspaper edition... once she actually brought it inside. Haltingly, she put the pot back on its warmer and then moved towards her fridge, pulling it open and blanching at its contents. Because of her busy schedule, plans to go grocery shopping often got pushed back... if not forgotten. Basically, she had no business offering a child breakfast unless she was going to serve him condiments.

Closing the appliance, Felicity moved towards her cabinets, opening and shutting them at random in agitation, in desperation. Finally, however, she landed upon some hot chocolate mix and an unopened container of oatmeal – something she had picked up months before when she had promised herself, yet again, that she'd start to eat healthier. Given that the container still had its seal, obviously she... hadn't quite gotten around to that goal yet. She didn't have milk, and she only had granulated sugar, not brown, but starving orphans couldn't be choosers, so, when she placed the less than appetizing bowl of oatmeal before the boy along with his made from water and not milk hot chocolate, he dove in like Kobayashi.

"You just... enjoy," Felicity told the child, backing away from him. He wasn't a grenade – she had stepped on a landmine once, so she should know, but the little boy, nevertheless, felt just as dangerous. "I'm going to," and she gestured vaguely behind her. "Yeah." Without further being said, Felicity disappeared, leaving the kid alone in her kitchen. Practically diving across her living room, she grabbed her cell phone off of her coffee table, zeroing in on and calling one of her most often dialed contacts.

If a situation had _ever_ called for back up, this was it.


	3. Chapter 3

**FF#14: Deputy Mommy – Part Three**

**Flash Fic Prompt #14: Oops!**

"Did you drug him?"

"What," Felicity exclaimed, caught off guard and completely shocked by the inquiry.

The man beside her shrugged. "It's a legitimate question." She was already sputtering in protest when he continued, "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time."

The only thing she could think to say in response... wasn't actually words. Which... was probably a first for her, but there was a first time for everything, right? Balling up her right fist, Felicity slugged Roy in the shoulder as hard as she could, purposefully aiming for tendons, and ligaments, and nerves, hoping to give him a dead arm. It was the least he deserved for that crack.

"Ow!" Rubbing his shoulder and glowering at her – also, apparently, unconcerned about waking the sleeping little boy they were both watching like he was a poisonous snake, coiled up and just waiting to strike, Roy asked, "what was that for?"

"You accused me of drugging a child."

Like it was the most obvious connection, like the two situations were even remotely alike, Roy argued, "you drugged me."

"What the hell, Roy! You were an adult who was pumped up on mira-_kill-you_. That," she gestured vaguely towards the slumbering child. "That's an innocent kid who was just abandoned on _my _front doorstep. I cannot believe you would accuse me of that."

"Well, if the syringe fits."

Felicity's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "A needle reference? Now? When I'm already _freaking _freaking out here? Nice. Really nice, Roy," she scoffed.

His eyes became wide with feigned innocence. "Hey, it's not my fault I jumped to that conclusion. You're the one who's always telling me that I act like an overgrown child, a five year old." Roy's brow furrowed as if he just realized something else. "And watch your damn potty mouth already. You're a mom now."

Felicity reared back as if struck, jabbing an accusing finger towards her friend's – okay, so she might have to rethink the status of their relationship given how this visit was progressing – face. "You take that back. I am _not _a mother – his, yours, or anyone else's for that matter."

Roy snickered. "You kind of are." Before she could fight him on that, he pressed onward. "I saw the note, remember? Someone with girly handwriting, so I'm assuming it was his first-string mother, just bequeathed their kid to you."

"Since when do you use words like 'bequeathed?'"

"Since when are you so twisted up by a seven year old that you can't even properly debate with me anymore?"

Roy was right. She really was losing her grip. Sighing so harshly that the pieces of her messy, tangled hair closest to her face lifted with the exhalation, Felicity flopped down onto her couch, Roy taking a seat next to her seconds later in a much calmer manner. After a moment, he hesitantly reached out to grab her hand, Felicity latching onto his fingers like they were her only life-line... and maybe they were. Her feet felt numb. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, and breathing was less than instinctual at that point. Her chest felt exactly like that time she'd had a bomb collar wrapped around her neck. And like the time she'd been held at gunpoint by a gangster after counting cards in his underground casino. And like the time she stepped on a landmine _after_ jumping out of a plane... if that rust bucket they'd taken to Lian Yu could even be considered an actual piece of aircraft. And like that time some creepy guy had wanted to turn her into a dead, life-sized, did she mention dead? doll. And then there was that time when the Count almost shot her up with vertigo, the time she had been shot... with a bullet, the time she'd been in a pirouetting van, the time...

"So, who do you think he is?"

Roy's query thankfully pulled her out of her trip down 'the times I almost died' memory lane. Without blinking, Felicity studied the _he _in question. "I have no idea."

"Could he be... related to you?"

Roy didn't know much (as in anything) about her family, so it was a legitimate thought. Plus, the little boy was blonde. His eyes were brown, though, and his face still had that roundness of childhood, his features soft and unfinished like most kids his age. "Perhaps a distant cousin," Felicity allowed, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I'm not... My parents split when I was little." More like her dad split when he abandoned them. "And my mom wasn't close with her relatives, so I didn't really grow up with that whole extended family thing that most kids have."

"Hey, you're talking to someone raised in the Glades. Trust me, you don't have to explain."

"Well, for me, it was Vegas, and it was lonely, and, if I have aunts or cousins out there capable of doing this, then, yeah, maybe we're related."

"You were raised by your mom, right," Roy stated for clarity. "Could your dad have had another kid you didn't know about? Maybe you have a little sister out there, and this is her little boy?"

For all Felicity knew, Jack Doe (because John was just too old for the child asleep at her kitchen island – his right hand still holding his spoon and resting in his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal, a pile of drool forming under his pursed, slightly open mouth) could be her father's son. Or, hell, even her mother's, and, surprising herself, she actually said as much out loud. "I haven't seen my mom since I left for MIT right after high school. It's been... eight years. We barely talk." She laughed, but there was no joy behind the gesture, no humor. "Maybe he's even hers." Then snorting in derision, Felicity added, "trust me, it wouldn't be the first time she picked some married man up at work for a one night stand and did something stupid... like have a kid at her age and then just dump him off on her estranged, adult daughter."

Whether he had no idea how to handle a bitter, emotional Felicity, bored with her woe-is-me family tale, or just distracted because he had the attention span of a fruit fly, Roy suddenly changed the subject. "So, what's in his backpack?"

She was slightly caught off guard by the shift. "Huh?"

"His bag," Roy emphasized, gesturing to the knapsack still strapped to the child's shoulders. "What's in it?"

"How should I know?"

He stood, already moving towards the kitchen, causing Felicity to scramble up after him. "You mean, you haven't gone through it? Maybe there's another letter inside – an explanation, directions."

"Roy, children don't come with directions."

"Well, this one sure as hell should," he grumbled. She hated to admit it, but she kind of agreed with him. Roy then lowered his voice even more. "Plus, you're running for deputy mayor _and _you're dating the Arrow."

"Oliver and I are not dating," she hissed, glaring at him.

She could tell he wanted to argue that point further, but they had more pressing issues at hand. "Fine. You're his sidekick."

"No, you're his sidekick; I'm his partner."

"Yeah, like I said," Roy snickered, smirked. "You're dating." Frustrated and unwilling to engage the infuriating imbecile further, Felicity just stepped up to the sleeping little boy and slowly, hesitantly, carefully unzipped his book-bag. Roy kept talking, his voice once more returning to its normal level, because, apparently, he no longer cared if he woke the kid, because she was already invading his privacy, so his curiosity could be satisfied, and she'd be the only one who looked like an insensitive, nosy... adult. "Given all that, I would have thought the first thing you did when you saw that the kid was carrying something with him was search him."

"For what," she scoffed, pulling out several books, a small container of Legos, and coloring supplies. "A bomb? You're an idiot."

"I don't know," Roy excused – his shoulder practically lifting to his ears as his eyes widened with a complete lack of guile. Or gumption, evidently. "He could be like a kamikaze... or something."

Felicity stopped what she was doing, looking up to meet her friend's wide gaze. "Like I said, idiot." Then, without further ado, she returned to her task, removing a change of clothes and a pair of sneakers. "Here," she thrust the clothes at Roy, already moving towards the smaller side pockets. "Look at the tags." The side pockets only produced matchbox cars and small army figurines. As she held the little toys in her hands, Felicity found a grin tugging up the corners of her mouth. It was just... so sweet. And sad. She found herself wondering whether or not the child realized, when he packed his bag, that he wouldn't be going home again, that the trip he was going on would be permanent, because, no matter what she said or did, Felicity knew that what was happening wasn't an accident. It wasn't a mistake. And the child's mother wasn't going to show up in a few hours, frantic to take her son home. He didn't run away, and this wasn't some random coincidence. He was there – on her doorstep and, now, inside of her home – for a reason, and that was perhaps the most frightening thing Felicity had faced in the two years since she had joined Oliver on his mission.

The most frightening thing she had ever faced.

Putting the toys back away, she turned to Roy and found him cluelessly holding the kid's clothes. "Why are you just standing there? Why aren't you looking?"

Slowly, he asked, "at the tags?" Why?"

"Because," Felicity huffed, taking the things from him and doing it herself. First she checked the shoes, then the jeans, then the sweater, and then finally she even looked at the miniature underwear, all the while explaining her actions. "When there are kids with the same things in schools, or when there are siblings close in age, parents will sometimes write their kids' names on the tags of their clothes... to tell them apart."

"As far as you know, you're an only child, right, and I've seen the way you dress. I have no doubt that no other kid wore clothes like you did to school, so how do you know parents do this?"

"Because I saw in on TV," she mumbled.

Roy started laughing, so she went with her instincts; she slapped him upside the back of the head.

"Hey," he yelled, shooting daggers at her with his eyes and gingerly patting the base of his skull, the moment eerily similar to when he had first arrived and accused her of drugging a child. "What the hell was that for?"

"Because you deserved it." When he didn't protest, she knew he saw the merit in her argument. "And watch your mouth... Uncle Roy."

Felicity didn't quite know yet what was going to happen, what she was going to do, or even what she could do, but Roy's suddenly paling face was all the reason she needed to dub him an uncle. As for everything else, well...? Dumping the kid's clothes on the counter, she spun around in her slippers and went back into her living room, picking up her cell. Once again, the number she dialed was a frequent flyer on her iPhone. For once in her life, Felicity wasn't going to solve a problem. Instead, she was going to dump it off into someone else's lap.

As the phone rang, she realized that she really was good at this whole politics thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**FF#15: Deputy Mommy – Part Four**

**Flash Fic Prompt #15: Bad Day, Good Night.**

"Whatever this is, it better be important," Detective – no, scratch that, it was Captain now – Lance said as soon as Felicity pulled open the front door of her building, the man crossing the threshold without waiting for further prompting and passing over her newspaper to her on his way. "Because it's barely eight a.m., and, already, it's been a day." He waltzed straight into her apartment, never once stopping his rant. "Apparently, my waterbed sprung a leak last night, because I woke up soaked. And I know what you're thinking," he warned her with furrowed brows and pointed index finger. "And I don't want to hear it, so don't even go there. Damn toenails." She was thinking that she never needed to know what kind of bed Captain Lance had... or, for that matter, ever have cause to think about his feet. "Then, I couldn't find any clean underwear, so I'm wearing these green speedo... things that Laurel bought me as a gag gift. Uncomfortable bastards." As he complained, he started to walk with a slight limp, and Felicity... shuddered. This was just wrong. When they rounded the hallway and entered her living room, her horror was at least buoyed by the fact that Roy looked traumatized. Good. At least she wasn't the only one. "Not to mention the fact that, once I got in my car to drive over here, I realized that my coffee was cold, so my coffee pot must be broken."

To emphasize his words, Captain Lance thrust his travel mug into her hands, Felicity's forehead wrinkling in confusion when she realized it was empty – unscrew the lid, turn it over, and still not a drop would fall out empty. "But...?"

"What, you didn't think I wasn't going to drink it, did you," Lance scoffed, his face screwing up with disbelief. "It was just cold, not poisoned. And I'm a cop for pete's sake. I've had worse." Without waiting for a response, he moved towards her kitchen, passing Roy on the way. "Harper," he greeted with a nod, apparently not finding it strange that a former street thug was standing in her apartment fully dressed and speechless at 8:03 in the morning on the same day that she was announcing to the world – or, at least, Starling City – that she was running for Deputy Mayor with Oliver Queen. "So, what's going on? What's wrong? What's the emergency? Why'd you call and wake me up out of...? Holy shit." Lance came to a skidding stop in the doorway between the two rooms. "That's a kid," he hissed, turning around to stare wide-eyed at Felicity. "_In your kitchen_."

His shock helped to temper her own. "Gee, you don't say. I hadn't noticed."

"Why's he... why's he sleeping like that," the police captain wanted to know, gesturing towards the practically passed out child. She watched as he quickly took in his surroundings, years of always looking for the evidence kicking in automatically. "What'd you do, slip him a mickey or something?"

"No," Felicity huffed, annoyed. "Why does everyone keep accusing me of that?"

Lance shrugged, his gaze going to Roy. "Why'd she call you?" Before either Felicity or Roy could answer, he changed his line of questioning somewhat. "Wait. How do the two of you even know each other?" Then he moved fully back into the living room, taking a seat in an armchair. "Just... start from the beginning. Tell me everything."

Roy just helplessly turned towards her, so Felicity took the reins of the conversation in hand. "Roy's a nuisance, but he's also a... a friend." When Roy didn't complain about her insult, she really knew how thrown he was by Captain Lance's presence, TMI confessions, and questions. "We met through the Queens."

"Speaking about your boyfriend," Lance snorted, rolling his eyes. So much for giving her a chance to talk. "Does he know about the kid snoring z's into his Lucky Charms in there?"

"It's oatmeal," she corrected automatically, shaking her head in slight self-reprimand at not being able to let an inaccuracy go without correcting it. "And Oliver is not my boyfriend."

"Really," the cop drawled in disbelief. When she just looked at him impassively, he held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. If that's how you want to play this. And I guess it's a good thing since he's going to be your boss again," he added, gesturing towards the paper tossed haphazardly onto her coffee table. "By the way, I never pegged you as a newspaper subscriber. That seems... out of character."

Of all the things that seemed out of character that morning – a known felon in her living room, a strange child asleep at her kitchen island...? "Oliver's not going to be my boss. We're... partners."

Lance smirked. "Like I said, then, you're dating." She really needed new friends. "So, does he – Queen – know... about the kid?"

"I'm already freaking out enough here," Felicity answered, starting to pace – her left hand going up to rub at her temple while her right arm folded across her chest so her right hand could wrap around her left elbow. "The last thing I need is Oliver freaking out, too, so no. He doesn't know. And I'd like to keep it that way. At least, for now."

"Yeah... I could see how a sudden son showing up out of the blue right when you're in the middle of a political campaign could throw your future mayor of a boyfriend into a tailspin. By the way," Lance added, snapping his fingers at her and raising his eyebrows in emphasis. "I don't care how much he's changed, I'm not voting for him."

"They're running uncontested," Roy spoke for the first time, seemingly finding his voice now that the other man had accused her of a having a _freaking secret kid_! "Who else are you going to vote for?"

"Anybody else," Lance answered. "The mayor's my boss, do you realize that? I'd rather it be anyone else besides Queen. Hell, I'd vote for you before I voted for him."

The two of them could have gone on for hours if Felicity wouldn't have spoken up. "You think... you think he's _mine," _she gasped_._ The words caught in her throat, choking her.

Lance shrugged. "He's here. He's cute, blonde."

"Hey, that's what I said," Roy commented, sharing a grin with the cop. The traitor.

"No," Felicity snapped, backing up several steps until she was pressed up against the far wall, putting as much distance between herself and them as possible. "You thought maybe he was my brother or my nephew, but you never accused me of... of having a child and... what? Giving him up?"

"Usually this doesn't happen until the kid's an adult, right," Lance asked. "Or at least a teenager? How'd he get here?"

"We don't know," Roy answered the Captain, but no one seemed to be addressing her questions.

"I have to admit," Lance continued, practically ignoring her, "that I never thought this would happen to her." With that, he hooked a thumb in Felicity's direction. "Queen? Sure. It's actually kind of a miracle that this hasn't happened with him yet. And you," Quentin nodded in Roy's direction. "This would make sense for you, too, but not Miss Smoak."

"That's because he's not mine," she raised her voice – practically yelling, practically screaming, and definitely not caring who heard or who woke up because of her heated, loud exclamations. "I don't have a child. I never did. I never gave a baby up for adoption. I've never given birth. I've never even been pregnant. I don't know who he is, or where he came from, or why he's here. That's why I called you," she finally finished, explaining her actions. Stalking across the room, Felicity slapped the note the little boy had handed to her what felt like years ago rather than just two hours against Lance's chest. "And here," she said, letting go of the missive once he took it from her. "That's the beginning. That's all I know. Now, you're caught up, so would you please just... tell me what to do."

It took only seconds for Lance to read the five words written in the foreign, unsigned hand. Folding the piece of paper back up, he stood – reaching for her shoulders and holding her in a steadying, apologetic manner. "I'll call child protective services. We'll take care of this."

He went to move away, already reaching for his phone, when she spoke up – her voice quiet, and hesitant, and small in its insecurity. "What... what will happen to him?"

"We'll start looking into who he is, try to find his parents. In the meantime, he'll be placed in a home or with temporary foster parents. After we locate his family... well, that will depend."

But would it really? What kind of explanation could possibly excuse what had been done to the child Felicity now found her life inexplicably linked to? And what if he was related to her; what if she was a part of that family the cops would be searching for? What if she _wasn't_? What if there wasn't someone out there who was good, and dependable, and capable of taking care of a child – this child? There were so many thoughts swirling around her mind, and no one was more startled at the words that next left her dry and chapped lips than Felicity herself, but she didn't regret what she asked either. "How does someone become a temporary foster parent?"

"What are you saying, Miss Smoak," Lance wanted to know, taking a step closer to her and narrowing his gaze in focus.

"I... I don't really know," she laughed in confusion, in distress, running her hands through her hair and then wincing when her fingers became stuck in the knots. Yet, she did. She did know what she was saying. And then suddenly she just couldn't stop talking. "He's not my child. I'm not his mother. I don't even know if I want to be a mother. I have never laid eyes on that little boy until this morning, but we're... connected now. For some reason, he came to me. Or he was brought to me. I don't know. And now I need answers. I need to know who he is, and why he's here, and why me, and, if his actual mother thinks that he should have been mine, I need to know if I'm even capable of taking care of him. I just... I need to do this. I need to see this through... wherever it takes me."

Lance nodded, seemingly understanding. He grinned slightly, and Felicity would have sworn that she saw pride shining through his tired, sad eyes. "Then you better call Queen, Miss Deputy Mayor, because you're about to throw one hell of a monkey wrench into your campaign."


	5. Chapter 5

**FF#16: Deputy Mommy – Part Five**

**Flash Fic Prompt #16: Detour**

Oliver had yet to comment on... well, anything, really. Oh, he talked. He said and did everything one would be expected to say and do in such a situation. _How are you? Are you okay? What happened? Who is he? Where did he come from? What happens next? _But she didn't want him to act like everyone else, like she was just anyone else. From the very beginning, their relationship had been different. Better. She was the one person he didn't pretend with... well, other than that whole 'my latte was so acidic that it burned holes into my laptop... bullet sized, randomly placed holes' thing, but, eventually, he told her the truth about that as well. The point was that, for the first time since they had met, Oliver wasn't being _emotionally _honest with her. That stung.

It also was driving Felicity crazy, too. She was so used to just... knowing everything about Oliver that _not _knowing was consuming her every thought. Instead of thinking about what she would say to the press that evening or about her next step in becoming Little Orphan Annie's (because the kid still wasn't talking, and she had no idea who he was – not even his name) _temporary_, legal guardian, Felicity was worrying about Oliver. Stewing, in fact. And what bothered her the most wasn't the fact that, so far, he had been completely radio silent on the matter but, instead, was the reason behind it.

Ever since they made like an exercise with magnets – pull me close, repel me far, far away, Oliver had been distant. Felicity was honestly surprised that, after Sara's death, he hadn't pushed her away entirely... as in off the team. But he hadn't, so she hadn't been forced to kick his ass to Bludhaven and back, and perhaps that's what was needed between them... to clear the air, so to speak. Because, since their kiss and her decision to walk away, absolutely nothing had been said. It was the unvoiced sexual tension in the room (which had always seemingly been there between them now that she thought about it) but multiplied by too many misunderstandings, missed opportunities, and disappointments to count. And now this – Felicity becoming a foster parent to a little boy who just showed up on her doorstep? It seemed to be the piece of straw that broke the hero's back.

"Say... something!" She didn't even know that she was going to talk until the words were already tumbling past her stained lips.

From where Felicity sat beside Oliver in the back seat of the Towncar they were riding in towards their first political event together – a formal announcement party, she watched him, unblinking, as he studiously refused to meet her gaze. Oliver would look everywhere _but _in her direction – his eyes jumping from the rain streaked window, to the floor, to his hands which were loosely clasped together over his knees – the grip a contradiction to the turmoil she could obviously see him struggling with. At any other time in their, now, more than two year... friendship, she would have crossed the distance between them – and there was quite a bit of distance, because they both had elected to hug the edges of their respective sides of the car – and wrapped both of her much smaller hands around his calloused ones, offering her silent support and strength in a gesture meant to comfort, meant to reassure him that he wasn't alone. But Felicity didn't understand the boundaries between them now. What was worse, where once she had been so confident in their bond that she never would have second guessed physical contact, now she had no idea if such a touch – her touch – would be welcome.

Pulling her from her thoughts, Oliver started to talk – his voice scratchy and rough with disuse. "Are you...?" He paused, grimaced, swallowed thickly. "Are you quitting?"

That's what he was worried about? Felicity nervously chuckled in response, her relief making her feel awkward. "While I never thought I'd run for Deputy Mayor with a former billionaire playboy turned secret masked crime-fighter, there's no way it could possibly be worse than the soul crushing experience that has been my career for the past six months; there's no way _I _could be worse at politics than I am sales _and _customer service. Besides, the cat's already out of the bag, Oliver. I think it's a little too late to try and put it back in now." It wasn't until she finished _vomiting _so many unnecessary words that she realized, while she had been anxiously rambling, Oliver had finally twisted around in his seat to face her, and he looked... pained. There were lines of stress, and hardship, and even fear – lines far deeper than what a man of his age should ever wear – dug into his forehead, webbing out from his tormented gaze, bracketing his mouth.

"Felicity, I don't give a damn about being mayor. I meant us, what we do at night. Are you quitting... the team?"

For a moment, she didn't know how to react. Oliver had just revealed... so much – both in what he said and what he didn't. She wanted to scream that there was no them – that he had finally let her hope that there could be a them, and then he ripped that dream out from underneath her, because he got scared. Again. She wanted to rage that _they _were more than just their nighttime partnership, and she wanted to confront him on the fact that, even though he said team, it felt like he was asking her if she was quitting him, giving up on him. Didn't he realize yet that, no matter what foolish thing he did, what hurtful thing he said, what asinine mistake he made, she wasn't going anywhere?

Instead of all of that... or any of it, Felicity settled on asking, "Oliver, why did you agree to be mayor?"

Before he could respond, she heard Digg suck in a breath from the front seat where he was driving them to their event that evening. Felicity's neck snapped towards her friend's direction, her gaze narrowing when he innocently announced, "oh, would you look there. A detour. Looks like we're going to be late." They were just blocks away from the hotel where the announcement event was being held, but John turned the car in the opposite direction.

"What the hell are you talking about," Roy demanded. And yeah. _He _was also in the front seat. Why Roy had to come along as well, Felicity wasn't sure. And she didn't like it, because she was still annoyed with him (and Captain Lance) from that morning. Traitors, both of them. "There isn't an orange cone or barrel in sight." Then Roy was squealing, and whining, "ow!", and squirming in his seat before falling silent once more, so Felicity assumed Diggle had effectively gotten his 'shut the hell up' point across with some sort of physical violence.

Turning back to Oliver, Felicity just stared at him, pointedly waiting for an answer. He ducked her gaze, but she didn't relent, and, eventually, he shrugged while staring out the window. The casual gesture did nothing to hide the tension coursing through his stiff and rigidly held body. "Walter asked me to."

"Since when do you do anything anyone asks you do, Oliver?"

He started to rub the digits of his right hand together – his thumb against his index and middle fingers. "I owed him... for helping with Queen Consolidated last year."

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest, digging in her metaphorical heels. "Walter's not the type of guy who would call in markers."

"Doesn't mean that the debt shouldn't be paid."

"And me," she pushed him, pushed herself, pushed _them_. In fact, Felicity found that, at some point during their conversation, she had closed much of the distance which separated their bodies... as if crowding Oliver would force him to confront her, confide in her. "Where do I come into play in all of this? Why ask me to be your deputy mayor?"

"You're the smartest person I know." Oliver's voice started out strong, but, the more he said, the softer his words became until he was just practically whispering. "You're also compassionate. You care. You want to make the world – Starling City – a better place. And I think that we work well together. You... balance me, make me better."

There was nothing wrong with anything that Oliver was saying. In fact, Felicity agreed with his answer. She _was _the smartest person Oliver knew... which didn't say much, because mainly he spent his time with criminals ranging anywhere on the evil spectrum from street thugs to megalomaniac masterminds. She did care, their styles did compliment one another's, and they did bring out the best in each other. The problem was that Oliver wasn't telling her everything; he wasn't telling her the real reason why he asked her to be his deputy mayor.

But then Felicity remembered what had started their entire conversation – Oliver questioning if she was going to quit, and she had her answer. Because of their failed attempt to be as much as they meant to one another, because of Sara's death, and because her desire to have more from life than just the team, Oliver had feared her pulling completely away, so he did the one thing he could think of to pull her even closer. It was manipulative, it was classic Oliver, and Felicity hated the fact that he still wasn't confident enough to just talk to her about his fears, but it was also kind of sweet, too.

Smiling gently, she ignored her earlier misgivings and reached out, folding her hands around Oliver's still loosely clenched together fists. "I'm not quitting," she promised him. Assured him. "I don't know how this will work exactly – bringing an impressionable, curious kid into our lives, but we'll figure it out. It might mean a little compromise, but this is something I have to do, Oliver. I... I don't even know why or how, but it's important. He's important – Huckleberry Finn. And not just to me. I can't explain it, but, somehow, I just know that he's important to all of us." Squeezing his hands one last time and shrugging her shoulders, Felicity clarified her answer down to its barest, simplest form. "I'm not leaving you, Oliver."

Minutes later, when Digg pulled them up outside of the hotel – cameras flashing, reporters yelling over one another as they tried to get _the _exclusive, it was Oliver who was holding her hands as he helped her out of the car and then led her through the surging mass of people that was the press line.


End file.
